


Cloud District

by SaintMB



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alchemy, Anger, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Betrayal, Crushes, Dragonborn (Elder Scrolls), Enemies to Lovers, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Headcanon, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Nazeem is not that bad, Not Beta Read, Sorry Not Sorry, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Unrequited Love, lets give poor nazeem a chance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27070867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaintMB/pseuds/SaintMB
Summary: Orrian, the Dragonborn, is inches away from crafting the potion that can make him the most powerful man in Tamriel. The only obstacle is that he is too well-known and side quests keep coming his way. This time, he has to rescue a very unfortunate Jenssen from the hands of a seething Nazeem. An encounter that changes his fate? Probably not. Or is it?
Relationships: Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Nazeem
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	1. A Matter of Life and Death

“Interesting combination of ingredients. A new recipe?” Arcadia asked as she emptied the bowl of void salts in a pouch.  
“No… no. Just experimenting.” Orrian said with a smile.  
The last thing he wanted was to see the potion on Arcadia’s shelves. He laid a handful of coins on the counter. he took the package from her hand and headed for the door.  
“Don’t forget to tell me if you found anything worthwhile,” Arcadia shouted as he closed the door behind him.  
The small package felt heavy in his hands knowing how significant it was going to be with a touch of the old arts. He glanced around as he crammed it in the inner pocket of his robes. All he needed now was an alchemy table and some privacy, A rare commodity in Whiterun but he had already wasted enough time gathering the bizarre ingredients, he didn't have time for travel.  
The streets were uncharacteristically quiet. Not the peaceful quiet of a midnight stroll, there was something missing. He couldn’t put his finger on it. He didn’t pay it much attention as he soon arrived at the Breezehome. He tried a few keys before he managed to unlock the door, cursing himself for hoarding so many unlabeled keys.  
The severity of the curse words increased as his eyes adjusted to the dim living room. His housecarl was sitting by the fire, holding her hands over the flames.  
Lydia… He had forgotten about Lydia.  
She seemed to notice the look on Orrian’s face.  
“Is there something bothering you, my thane?”  
“Everything’s alright, Lydia. I just… I uh… I need you to deliver something for me.”  
“Sure. The courier arrives tomorrow. Give it to me and I will get it to him first thing in the morning.”  
Of course, he does.  
“No courier. I mean… this is an important note. I can’t risk leaving it to someone I can’t trust.”  
“You want me to deliver it myself?  
“I don’t know of anyone I could trust more."  
The corners of her mouth twisted in pride. Orrian rushed upstairs and unlocked the chest sitting beside the bed. He considered a few items before finally settling on a rare first edition of “The Final Lesson”. He sealed it carefully in a piece of parchment and ran downstairs. Lydia was waiting for him by the staircase, a brown traveler’s cloak hung on her shoulders.  
“Here, I want you to give this to Urag gro-Shub in Winterhold and him only. Do not open the package.”  
“Understood. I’ll be on my way.”  
“I appreciate your help, Lydia.”  
Orrian kept smiling until he saw her out of the house. He ran to the alchemy room as soon as he closed the door. The room was cluttered. It took a while until he located the strongbox under a stack of recipes. He pushed an assortment of herbs off the table to make room for the box. He ran his fingers along the cold metal lid before opening it. He laid the items on the wooden table.  
“ Jarrin root, crimson nirnroot, Daedra heart,” He paused to pull the pouch out of his pocket “And void salts. Finally, we have all we need.”  
He couldn’t help but groan when he heard the knock. It must have been Lydia, forgetting her bow like she always does. He wondered if she even had the mental capacity to tell friends from the enemy. She sure didn’t understand that she shouldn’t trigger every single pressure plate.  
His train of thought got interrupted by the sight of the redguard woman standing in front of the door.  
“Thank Kynareth you’re home!” Ahlam said, almost out of breath.  
Orrian had never seen her in this state. He scanned the street for attackers.  
“You need to help me. Please. Please help!”  
“What happened? What’s wrong?”  
“It’s Nazeem. He saw… He saw us. Divines, he’s going to kill him!”  
“Hey… Hey… you need to calm down. Where is he?”  
“I don’t know… I don’t know! Please help he’s going to kill Jenssen!”  
He grabbed her shoulders, gently shaking her.  
“Alright. Go home. I’ll go find them.”  
“Please hurry!” she said as she took a step back, still shaking.  
Orrian didn’t stay to watch her walk away. He rushed to the alchemy room. He placed the ingredients back inside the box with a sigh. 

***

A breeze made Orrian shiver. He pulled his cloak closer to himself as. Nobody had seen either of the men. Not even the guards. They had no problem chasing him if he accidentally touched the wrong thing but a furious man chasing another? Not noticeable enough apparently.  
a night guard was patrolling outside the Pelagia's farm, The torch in his hand moving threateningly close to the wooden fence.  
He was about to approach the guard when he heard a faint scream. Faint enough to just be noticeable to the ears of an elf. His head shot up in the direction of the noise. The sudden movement caught his attention.  
“What is it, Dragons?" He said. His voice stained with hope and terror.  
Orrian decided not to respond.  
“Gotta keep my eyes open. Damn dragons could swoop down at any time.” He said as he passed Orrian, Looking up at the sky.  
Another scream echoed through the fields. Orrian walked towards the source to the east. As he got closer the voices became clearer.  
“Please… Please stop! Please.”  
The screams seemed to be coming from the Honningbrew Boilery.  
“No! No! No! Please don’t! Don’t hurt me!”  
Orrian unsheathed his elven sword as he pushed the wooden door open. The priest was on the floor, covering his head with his arms. His bloodied robes torn apart. Dim sparkles of healing magic shining through his fingers. Too weak to have any effect. Behind him, Nazeem was standing with a wooden staff in his hands, Hovering alarmingly over Jenssen’s body.  
Neither seemed to notice the elf.  
“Please, Nazeem. Please. Let me explain.”  
The redguard ignored his pleas. He raised the staff to his left, getting ready to strike again. Orrian took advantage of his vulnerable pose and charged forward, grabbing the staff with one hand and kicking the man towards the wall. Before he could process the attack Orrian pinned him to the wall. The golden sword against his throat.  
Nazeem’s eyes focused on his attacker. Irises even darker than usual. His lip went up in a snarl as he tried to free himself of the elf’s grip. Orrian reacted by pushing the sword to his throat.  
He looked back to the priest looking at them with wide eyes.  
“Do not tell the guards. I’ll take care of this.”  
“But…”  
“I said I’ll take care of this,” Orrian interrupted before he could protest. “Go!”


	2. A man of Many Skills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another exciting, spine-tingling, melodramatic chapter of Cloud District. Follow our handsome, charming, dapper elf protagonist in his adventure to prove he is the best Dragonborn to ever exist as he masterfully conquers every challenge thrown at him with maximum grace only an elf can muster.

Orrian had many skills. His father taught him alchemy and destruction magic from a young age, he could handle a blade decently, and he liked to think he was a good archer. Helping betrayed people burning with rage, however, wasn’t one of them. Especially if the person hated him with a passion like Nazeem.

The people of Whiterun didn’t have the best reputation when it came to their attitude towards strangers. But Nazeem, He was something else. He never held back his opinions. Whether it was comments on his social status, sense of fashion, or the “crude’ weapons, he never failed to let Orrian know exactly how much he disapproved of his entire existence. 

At first, the comments felt personal. Being a newcomer, Orrian felt lost. Isolated even. But as it went on he got used to it. He didn’t pay much attention to Nazeem’s seemingly misplaced hatred and his constant self-centered babbles became a part of Whiterun’s ambient. 

That’s what troubled him the most. The only sound coming out of that self-assured, confident man now was the sound of his labored breaths. Completely still, the only movement was the rise and fall of his chest against Orrian’s. He didn’t pay any mind to the blade pressed against his throat, cutting into the skin with every inhale.

Orrian forced himself to concentrate. He took a deep breath and let the magika flow through his body. The mint light began building up in his palm. As not to alarm Nazeem he slowly reached up, hovering his hand over the other man’s chest. He took another deep breath before releasing the spell. Nazeem’s breath began to steady and his eyes, still burning into Orrian’s, softened. 

After a moment of hesitation, Orrian released the man and took a step back. He didn’t have much time before the spell wore off. He tried to get the man’s attention. 

“Nazeem!”  
No response. Nazeem was standing in the same place, looking at the ground. in a trance.  
Orrian’s heart skipped a beat. He was never good at illusion magic. Could he- could he have messed it up so bad as to fry the man’s brain?  
“Nazeem!”  
He reached out to touch his shoulder. Nazeem’s eyes shot up in alarm. The elf took a breath in relief. He wasn’t good at illusion magic at all. 

“What are you waiting for?” Nazeem growled, tears staining his voice.  
“What?”  
“You’re here to kill me. Do it already. Or do you enjoy playing with your prey?”  
“What? No!” His sympathy for the man started to melt away with every word that came out of Nazeem’s mouth. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. What was he thinking, trying to calm that arrogant bastard down? He hasn’t been anything but a headache since the first day he entered Whiterun. If anything, he had all of this coming.

The stream of thoughts made Orrian shiver. Of course, he didn’t have all of this coming. He hated the man. But he didn’t deserve this. No one deserved this. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Nazeem wasn’t looking at him. Orrian followed his gaze. The golden sword was still in his hand, pointed towards the redguard. 

“ You’re not worth getting in trouble for. But,” He said as he sheathed the blade, trying to keep up the callused look. “You will be if you a lay a finger on Ahlam. I will hunt you down. And I will push a dagger through your heart.” 

A dry laugh left Nazeem’s chest. 

“If I don’t beat you to it.”

A sharp burn went through Orrian’s chest. Was he worried for the man? Of course, he wasn’t. Why would he be worried for the source of all his problems? He simply felt sorry for him. That’s all he felt, sorry.

“Come, I’ll walk you home”  
“Home?”  
“Well, I can’t risk leaving you to lose control again and beat someone into a pulp again can I?”

Nazeem’s eyes drifted away. His expression soured as he considered his answer.

“I’m not coming back.” He said, shaking his head. His voice becoming more frantic with every sentence. “I don’t want to see her. I don’t want to walk those streets and see everyone’s pitying eyes, feeling sorry for me. Nazeem the neighborhood cock.”

“That’s not gonna ha-“

They both jumped at the sound of the creaking door. Orrian’s eyes searched for the source of the sound. Eimar closed the door behind him. Whistling as he made his way up the platform. What was he doing here in the middle of the night? Orrian grabbed Nazeem’s sleeve and pulled him into the shadow of the nearby boiler. The man’s eyes widened in panic. Orrian leaned close.

“I’ll distract him. Meet you outside”  
His whisper was answered with a nod from Nazeem. He let go of the sleeve he was still hanging on to and stood up.

“Eimar!”

The young man jumped in shock. His expression softened as he recognized the elf approaching him.

“Orrian! You scared the oblivion out of me!”  
“I’m sorry. I was here to uh… taste the new batch.” He smiled sheepishly.  
“It’s a good one! Mallus is a genius when it comes to mead.” He shifted uncomfortably against the wooden table. “He is teaching me everything he knows about brewing. Hopefully, I can take over his position someday.” 

Orrian noticed the boy’s uncomfortable position. Was he hiding something?  
“Whatcha got there?”  
“No- nothing!”  
“Come on Eimar! I thought we were friends” He said as he got closer to the boy, scanning the area. In his periphery, He saw the top of Nazeem’s head appearing from the other end of the platform “ You can trust me.”

Eimar seemed to consider his options before stepping away, revealing a novice set of alchemy equipment. A bright red liquid swirling around a round bottle.

“A fellow alchemist huh? Didn’t take you as one.”  
“I uh... I only started a few months ago.” He said rubbing the back of his neck.  
“Is that a health potion?”  
“No. It’s an experiment” He dragged his words in hesitation. “ I guess I can trust you… It’s a new syrup. For mead. It makes it sweeter and smells like fresh snowberries.”

Orrian smiled at the boy’s enthusiastic gestures. 

“It’s not finished yet but when it is, It’s gonna be the next favorite mead in the Skyrim. Then I can have my own meadery. Mallus is gonna be proud of me.”

“I don’t think Black-Briars would be too happy about it.” Orrian frowned remembering the scheme he helped Maven pull.

Regret immediately took over him as he saw the boy’s face fall. Why did he have to say that? It wasn’t like a 14-year-old could make something that could threaten Maven’s business anyway.

“But you don’t need to worry about that. You have the dragonborn on your side.” He grinned. 

The spark returned to Eimar’s eyes.

“You will help me?”  
“Of course I will. You’re a-” 

The wooden doors closed with a creak. Eimar turned towards the entrance.

“What was that?”  
“Probably wind.” Orrian cursed himself for trusting Nazeem’s sneaking skills. “I was looking that way the whole time and nothing was there.” He tried to reassure the boy.

“Are- Are you sure?” The boy turned to look at Orrian in terror.  
“I’m quite sure… Tell you what, I was gonna go back home anyway. I’ll double-check for you.”  
“Thank you.” 

Orrian patted him on the shoulder before running for the door.

“See you around!”

He made sure the door was closed before looking around. Nazeem was crouching behind the stone fence. 

“Why are you still hiding?” Orrian tried to hide his chuckle.  
“I don’t know about you but I don’t like to be dragged away by the guards for trespassing.”  
“You’re giving them too much credit if you think they would know if someone’s trespassing without someone shouting for help,” he said as he offered his hand. 

Nazeem struggled to get up, not accepting Orrian’s help. He flinched in pain when he tried to pull his weight up. 

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

He reached and grabbed Nazeem’s hand, ignoring the man’s attempt to hide his arm behind his back. 

“It doesn’t look so good. You need to get that looked at” Orrian said carefully examining the swollen wrist.  
“I thought the archmage would be at least good at one school of magic.”  
“I am goo-“ Orrian sighed “look, I can’t risk using healing magic if your wrist is broken. If it heals wrong you won’t be able to use it again. “

His words made the man look up at him in horror. 

“Come on.” Orrian said as he grabbed the man’s arm, “Let’s get you home”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A summary as short as the chapter itself: Orrian walks Nazeem to the temple to get his hand fixed. 
> 
> Do not be deceived by the length of this chapter. It is very very short and very very powerful. packed with information and exposition. Who doesn't love those?

Thinking of how he would explain the bloodstains on Nazeem’s clothes, Orrian nodded at the two faceless guards at the gate. He could say he rescued him from a viscous animal. That could make a good folk story. Or that they were hunting. Not as epic, but Nazeem wouldn’t keep his mouth shut if he implied that he needed any help. 

With anything. 

At all. 

He was barely finished with the thought when he heard the gates creak open. 

They hadn’t noticed. 

Of course. 

If anything they were probably relieved that Nazeem wasn’t pestering them with his comments and they didn’t wanna take a chance. 

Careful not to draw attention, he lead Nazeem through the gates and straight to the Wind district, encountering only Amren when they were making their way up the stairs. Orrian gave himself a mental face palm remembering the family sword. He kept forgetting about it unless during the rare moments that the mercenary was right in front of him. This time, the moment was short-lived. Similar to the guards, Amren hurried away when he saw the man accompanying him. 

He had to get Nazeem to walk with him more often. 

Orrian stopped when he noticed that the man was no longer trailing behind him. Turning around, he saw Nazeem standing a few steps from the stairs. His posture returning to the same state as what he first saw in the boilery. Stiff. No movement except for his chest heaving with each shaky, labored breath.

The torch behind him made it hard, even for elven eyes to make out his expression, but he could see the direction his eyes were fixed to. 

The temple. 

A shiver went down Orrian’s spine. The temple of Kynareth. The place Jenssen worked at. The place Ahlam volunteered at. It was so obvious. How could he not realize that? Was he so busy playing the hero that he hadn’t even considered where he was leading the poor man?

Cursing himself he approached the redguard. He reached for his shoulder but thought better of it midway. 

“I- I’m… You don’t have to come in if you don’t want to.”

No response.

“Or we could wait until morning and go to Arcadia’s. I can do something for the pain until then, I have some po-”

“No.” Nazeem’s voice was shaking but the tone was stern. “No. I’m not the one who should run away.”

Orrian nodded, following the invisible trail of Nazeem’s stare. He felt nauseous looking at the flowing orange light illuminating the temple doors. He was usually not one to be shaken by his nerves. Not after all those years of crawling in and out of ancient ruins and bandit hideouts. But this was different. This wasn’t a fight. 

His ears were suddenly flooded with his mother’s voice, screaming back at her husband for coming home reeking of alcohol. His mother’s voice, telling him off for not practicing magic enough like his sibling did. His mother’s voice, cold and distant, asking him to pack his stupid vials and go back to his father. 

He wasn’t sure if he was affected by Nazeem’s state of mind or it was the anticipation of a confrontation that pulled the memories out of the back of his mind and painted them a more vivid color. Ever since he left home, he made sure to avoid confrontation. If peace wasn’t an option he used his fists, if that wasn’t enough he took comfort in knowing that his dagger was sitting right beside his thigh. 

He took a deep breath and shook the sounds away. This wasn’t about him. This was about his friend. And her betrayed husband. This couldn’t be solved with fists, nor a dagger. 

“Come on. Let’s get this over with.” He finally gathered the courage to rest his hand on the man’s back.

It took Nazeem a moment before he could move his heavy legs. Orrian let him lead the way to the temple. He could hear Nazeem’s breath get more labored as they got closer to the temple.

The earthy scent of healing potions and flowers hit Orrian’s nose as they approached the front entrance. He glanced at the man. Standing still, his hand inches away from the wooden door. 

“Are you sure?”

He nodded. Closing the distance, he pushed the door open.

**Author's Note:**

> The characters for this fic were randomly generated as a challenge.  
> Don't judge me... No, Do judge me. Comment the worst criticism. Do your worst.


End file.
